A Study in Feelings
by TanGrrYnes
Summary: Our favorite BBC show Sherlock's cast is shrunken down to bright-eyed, pimply-faced, gangly-limbed teenagers in the peak of their adolescence. Follow Johnny Watson, an aspiring doctor, Sherlock Holmes, whatever he is, and the rest of the gang through their last years of high school together. Love, heartbreak, friendship, struggles for power are all included. The game is on!
1. Chapter 1

A cluster of girls waited by the school's back entrance for their friend, Sarah, and they giggled as she approached them.  
"What're you all laughing at?" she asked with a smile, for she knew the answer.  
"We saw you over there talking to Johnny!" Jeanette giggled.  
"He's short but he's so cute!" Sarah gushed.  
"What did he say?"  
"Come on! Tell us what he said!"

"What did she say?" asked Sherlock, hovering over Johnny at his locker with an intense stare.  
"Hang on! I've only just spoken to her." Johnny said, hoisting his rucksack over his shoulder. "But she said yes," he added with a toothy grin.  
"So you'll be out with her tomorrow night, then?" Sherlock asked.  
"Yes," Johnny said. He had a feeling this would turn into something about Sherlock very quickly.  
"I suppose I'll have to find something to do then." Sherlock continued, his voice sounded ever so slightly disappointed.  
"Come on, Sher!" Johnny begged. "I'm over your place almost every afternoon. I haven't been on a date in ages."  
Something changed in Sherlock's attitude just then. He perked up, as he did, when he was about to tell someone something they already knew that he shouldn't. He was going to deduce something.  
"Ah," Sherlock said, with an understanding air about him. "That's what this is. It's to be expected."  
"What is?" Johnny said, now annoyed.  
"Lately you've been slouching as you walk and sit, that's unlike you. I noticed that you're eating more at school, which means that you're not eating much at home, probably because you're arguing with your parents and so you skip dinner so as to avoid them as much as possible. You also arrive at school early for the same reason. I had a look at your marks for this semester and your grades are falling. Now, you've been over my house dozens of times in the past but never so often as you have these last few weeks, clear evidence that you don't want to be at home. One can only arrive at the conclusion that you are angry with your parents for kicking your sister out of the house, and you are lonely without her. No one can blame you for feeling how you do."  
Johnny swallowed hard, largely embarrassed by Sherlock's marvelously accurate deduction.  
"You know," Sherlock wondered out loud. "Certain modern scientists believe that sexuality is a genetically inherited trait."  
"I am not gay!" Johnny declared, rather loudly, earning glances of peers and one passing teacher.  
"I didn't say you were," Sherlock said, unaware of Johnny's embarrassment.  
"Look, Sherlock, I'm going on a date tomorrow night. With a girl. Just because my sister is a lesbian, doesn't mean I'm gay,"  
"Of course not." Sherlock said as he checked his watch. "Time for first period. What's my class again?"  
"You're the smartest guy in school," Johnny complained, "and you can't remember your own schedule. You have Advanced Chemistry first, and then we have Phys. Ed. together."  
"Thank you, Johnny. I'd be lost without you!"  
Johnny couldn't help but smile as Sherlock bounded off for Chemistry. He so rarely gave praise, it made Johnny's already special morning extra special.

Sherlock didn't even try to hide that he rolled his eyes when he entered Advanced Chemistry. Molly Hooper, he remembered. She was a bright girl, in his eyes, but never stopped talking and was rather clumsy. Oh, and she was permanently seated across from Sherlock. She may have been bright, but she was incessantly annoying.  
"Good morning, Sherlock!" Molly greeted him. He gave her a stiff smile, but only because Johnny had ingrained it in his mind that it was rude if he didn't.  
"We've just been given our assignment for today," Molly cheerfully informed him. "Doctor Stamford says that if we've finished early, we can have the rest of the period free. If you finished early, and I finish early, -well, of course you will, Sherlock, you always do, you're so brilliant,- would you like to maybe team up on the science fair this year?"  
"As engaging as that sounds, Molly, I've already promised Johnny that I'd team up with him."  
"Oh. Well, that's nice of you. Best mates, of course." Molly said, unsuccessfully hiding her disappointment.  
"Oi, Molly!" whispered Anderson from the back. "I'll be your partner for the science fair!"  
"I promised Johnny to be his partner because he's not a very good chemist," Sherlock told Molly. "You are, however, and I suspect Anderson will need all your help to manage."  
Molly positively glowed at Sherlock's words and graciously accepted Anderson's offer to work together. Sherlock finished Dr. Stamford's assignment in less than half the time it took the other students to even begin the actual experiment. Molly finished second, and third Anderson. While the rest of the class finished the assignment, Molly and Anderson quietly began a list of experiments to conduct for the science fair; Molly sneaked a peek over at Sherlock once or twice, and hoped he didn't notice.

Johnny hustled to the boy's locker room for Phys. Ed. He was thankful for having Sherlock in his class. Even though Johnny was surprisingly popular with the ladies, he was equally unpopular with the boys his age. Probably because he was stealing all their girlfriends. If Sherlock weren't there to intimidate the other boys, Johnny would surely be used as a punching bag on a regular basis.  
Johnny and Sherlock met outside the locker room, as usual.  
"How was Chem?" Johnny asked.  
"Dreadfully boring. How was...what was it, again?"  
"Creative Writing."  
"Oh, that's worse than Chemistry!" Sherlock cried. "We're playing basketball today. Are you ready?"  
"Ready as ever," Johnny said. With a curt nod aimed towards his friend, they entered the locker room to change into their gym clothes.  
Johnny wasn't a bad athlete, and he was, according to at least half the girls at school, very handsome, and according to his grades, very smart, and according to anyone who knew him, very kind. But Johnny couldn't help seeing how short he was, with big ears and a crooked smile, and feeling lesser for it. Johnny stole a glance at Sherlock. He was tall, abnormally thin, and unexpectedly muscular. Johnny admired his physique. His crystalline blue eyes, his high, sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. His air of self-confidence and assurance, his aloofness to everyone and everything.  
Johnny caught himself staring before anyone else could, thank God, and got on with the game. It had started out as a great day for Johnny, but it became more and more bleak as the hours ticked on. Sooner and sooner it was until he'd be on his way home again. Back to his mum and dad. Back to his sister's empty bedroom. Back to the empty seat beside him at the dinner table. Back to the shouting at each other and crying and ugliness because now that Harry was gone, there was no one there to hold the family together. Soon, it was back to Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

It was half past three when Johnny crept into the kitchen of his home. His house, rather. It didn't feel much like home anymore these days. His mother was waiting for him at the kitchen table, with an enticing plate of warm cookies.  
"Johnny, dear, how was school?" she asked.  
"Fine," Johnny said.  
"Won't you sit down and have a cookie with your mummy?" she asked hopefully.  
"Sorry, mum, not really hungry." Johnny told her, walking past her without looking at her. He was blown far back into his childhood, when he was just starting school for the first time. Every day his mother would have some kind of treat waiting for him when he got home, and they would sit together at the kitchen table and he would tell her all about his day at school and she would wipe the crumbs from his little chubby cheeks. She hadn't done so in a long time, and the gesture today was intimidating. It wasn't a mother-son chitchat, it was an interrogation, possibly. Meant to pry at him. It would lead to another shouting-match. No, thank you.  
Johnny barely set foot in the next room before his father materialized out of thin air and barked at him for not kissing his mother.  
"Don't you give your mother a kiss anymore, lad?" he asked angrily. Johnny slowly met his father's eyes and saw that this was not a question, it was an order. He turned back 'round into the kitchen and gave his mother a peck on the cheek. His father's heavy footsteps followed him and to Johnny's great dismay, they led him into his chair at the table.  
"Have a seat, lad. Your mother and I want to have a talk with you."  
Johnny swallowed hard, trying desperately not to show his panic. Most teenagers liked arguing with their parents. It made them feel like they were listened to, like they had their say. Johnny hated the conflict. He wished that things could just go back to normal.  
"So," Hamish said. "What have you been up to lately?"  
"Err, school."  
"Don't be wise with me!" Hamish warned. His temper was unusually short these days. Everything sent him over the edge.  
"Darling, we're just worried a bit. We hardly see our children anymore, do we?" His mother asked, gently smoothing Johnny's hair.  
"If you wanted to see your children more," Johnny said before thinking, but it was too late, the words spilled from his mouth like a bitter glass of wine, unable to be corked up- "you shouldn't have sent Harry away."  
Hamish slammed his fist on the table, upsetting the plate of cookies and knocking them all over the floor.  
"Hamish!" Johnny's mother scolded.  
"I will not have it in my house!" Hamish roared. "I will not! That's not how we raised Harriet-"  
"If everyone turned out like they were raised, we'd all be lawyers and doctors and bankers!" Johnny shouted back. "There's be no writers, or artists, or musicians. Nobody grows up to be exactly what their parents wished for!"  
"-unholy, abomination-"  
"Yeah? Guess what? Being gay isn't a choice! Just today I learned that some modern scientists believe that sexuality is linked with genetics! So which of you is it, then? Which one of you gave Harriet the lesbian gene?"  
"God doesn't-"  
The blood was boiling in Johnny's veins. Something overcame him and he ripped the pitcher of milk from the table and smashed it on the floor over the forgotten spilled cookies.  
"WE DON'T EVEN GO TO CHURCH!" Johnny screamed. He was crying now. He couldn't help it. His wrath always yielded to sobbing. There was a shocked silence from his parents, who stared at him in disbelief, and the short, ragged breathing Johnny adopted was the only sound besides the trickling milk on the floor. He made the mistake of wiping the tears from his eyes because in the moment his eyes were closed he was tackled to the floor. His mother shrieked.  
"Are you on drugs?" Hamish growled, weighing down on Johnny, breathing in his face.  
"Are you on drugs?!" Hamish asked again, shaking Johnny a little by the shoulders.  
"Get off me!" Johnny screeched. "You're crazy!"  
This had never happened before. Johnny wasn't much of a trouble maker, and he had never deliberately destroyed his mother's good china before. True, he hardly even sassed his parents. Everything he'd said in the entire half hour was extraordinarily unlike him, which was probably why his father pinned him to the floor.  
"That Holmes boy is a bad influence on you!" Hamish spat. "I never liked him!"  
Johnny stared up at his father in horror.  
"John Hamish Watson, you are forbidden to associate with him. Do you understand?"  
"You can't do that!" Johnny sobbed, his will at last broken. "He's my only friend."  
"You should have chosen a better friend, then," Hamish said savagely.  
"But Sherlock isn't a dr-"  
"My word is final!" Hamish shouted. Even Johnny's mother jumped in her seat at the harshness of his tone. Hamish barked once more at Johnny to clean the mess on the floor, and when he was finished to just go in his bedroom and do his homework. Johnny's mother tried wiping the tears from Johnny's face as he stood back up. Telling him that this was for his own good. That maybe if Sherlock cleaned up his act, they could be friends again, with supervision. But the dead look in Johnny's eyes stopped her, and she let him be.

"You've had a row last night." Sherlock said pointedly as Johnny approached him at the back entrance of the schoolyard.  
"Don't," Johnny warned. He was in absolutely no mood for Sherlock's wit today.  
"It was especially bad." Sherlock pressed on. "Your eyes are positively bloodshot."  
"Don't!"  
"There's no shame in crying, Johnny. It's natural."  
"Shut up, Sherlock! This isn't a game!" Johnny hissed. "My dad's forbidden me to speak to you. Did you figure that out by looking at me?"  
"I figured as much. You normally enter school through the front doors, not the back. That's where we meet in the morning. You were trying to avoid me. Rightly, so. I wouldn't want to cross your father. He's rather intimidating."  
"Yes, well, he's convinced that I'm snorting crack because I hang out with you, and that you're the reason I've "got a chip on my shoulder" and he was going on and on about respect, and embarrassing him and my mum..."  
"Well, you're not snorting crack," Sherlock said, almost with a laugh. "So clearly I'm not the reason your parents are displeased with you. So what is the reason, Johnny?"  
"Sherlock, you need to find a new science fair partner. I'm sorry." Johnny said.


	3. Chapter 3

It was lunch time and Sherlock sat by his lonesome, as he often did, outside on a bench in the schoolyard. Sherlock never ate lunch at school; digestion interfered with his thinking.  
"You're all alone," said a voice from behind him.  
"Apparently not," Sherlock said, turning to look at who was speaking. To his mild surprise, there stood before him a tall girl of about his age that he did not recognize. Yet, she wore the navy blue uniform...for boys. It was a chilly November day, but she wore a short-sleeve button-down with a necktie, and shorts that students were only permitted to wear in Spring and Summer.  
"I'm new. The name's Irene Addler. Most people call me Addie."  
"Sherlock," he offered. Addie sat down on the bench next to him. She noted that he never looked directly at her for more than a moment. He was very distracted, it seemed.  
"What're you up to all alone out here? Aren't you cold?"  
"No," Sherlock said.  
Normally he would have sat inside, with John while he ate, but since John was no longer to be seen with him, Sherlock took his leave of the cafeteria. He had no reason to be there.  
"Well. I dunno about you, Sherlock," Addie said, "but I haven't got a partner for science fair."  
"You're proposing we work together." Sherlock said.  
"Indeed I am."  
Sherlock at long last turned to face Addie.  
"You're from the south end," he perceived. "sixteen, no, seventeen. Only child. You're half French. Likely on your mother's side. There's a half-page of paper folded in your right pocket-that's your class schedule. You don't know it yet, so you only just arrived the beginning of this week, yet you have no new friends. Otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to be your science fair partner. Unfortunately for you, I've already got a partner."  
"No you haven't," Addie said with a sly smile. "If you had, you wouldn't be outside sitting all alone, would you? You have no friends either."  
Sherlock was impressed. She was sharp. Very sharp.  
"How do you like the idea of differentiating between all the different types of London soil in footprints?"  
"Sounds like a bore. When's your free period?"  
"Don't have one. That being said, I'll meet you in the Chemistry lab after third period. "  
"How did you know I have fourth period free?" Addie asked, a pleased grin on her face.  
"Shot in the dark," Sherlock said. In truth, he saw that she had no book bag on her person, nor any books under her arm. The smarter students brought their third and fourth period books with them to lunch to avoid the risk of being late to class after rushing to their lockers. New kids nearly always had a free block their first semester in, and since fourth period was the most common for free studies, it wasn't that hard to figure out.


	4. Chapter 4

Johnny's head was spinning. He wandered into the boy's lavatory, the one that no one ever used, in the small corridor leading to the janitor's supply closet. He didn't need the loo. He just needed to pull himself together. Doctor Stamford had just pulled him aside and told him that if he didn't start improving his grades, his chances of getting into Bart's teaching hospital after high school were slim indeed.  
He ran the cold tap and splashed his sweating face. Pull yourself together, Johnny, he told himself. There's nothing wrong with you. Just keep it together.  
But hard as he tried, Johnny couldn't keep a hold on his feelings. First his parents kicked his sister out of the house, leaving him confused and alone. Then things at home start falling apart. Always with the fighting. Then, he isn't allowed to be friends with his best mate, on completely false accusations of drug using. And now, the icing on the cake: if you can't get your grades up, you can't go to your first choice teaching hospital.  
Johnny was angry. So very, very enraged. He felt helpless, like the forces of nature were working against him. God was pushing him down, right in the mud, just like the children did when he was younger. Everyone always holding him back, looking him over, putting him down. It was almost too mu-  
Bang!  
The door to the loo burst open and to the floor fell an underclassmen, followed by a goon Johnny recognized as Charles Magnussen.  
"Stay down, Moriarty!" Magnussen hissed at the boy on the ground.  
"P-please stop!" begged the boy. Neither of them seemed to notice Johnny at first. Johnny, upon a closer look, recognized the boy on the floor as not an underclassman at all, but a fellow third-year, Jimmy Moriarty.  
"Leave him be!" Johnny warned, his anger and self-hatred forgotten for the moment. He recognized Magnussen as a fourth-year, one who nobody liked.  
"'Leave him be!'" Magnussen mimicked in a falsetto voice. "Or what, Watson?"  
"Or I'll give you a taste of your own medicine, that's what!" Johnny told him.  
"Ooh, I'm scared." Magnussen laughed. He looked down at poor Jimmy, frozen in fear on the dirty floor, and kicked him right in the stomach. Jimmy doubled over, clutching his stomach, and gurgled in pain. Johnny could see his ears were scarlet.  
"Magnussen!" Johnny growled, taking a step closer and rolling up the sleeve of his right arm.  
Magnussen smiled at Johnny and kicked Jimmy again, hard, without even looking at him. A piteous grunt erupted from Jimmy's throat followed by several coughs and dry heaves.  
Johnny's vision went black and all he knew was his fist smashing Magnussen in the face, breaking his glasses and scraping his jaw felt good. Really good. But then the pair were a tangle on the floor, a struggle for dominance. Magnussen may have been bigger than Johnny, but Johnny was stronger.  
Someone must have heard the commotion within, because no sooner had Johnny tasted blood in his mouth than had he been pried off of Magnussen and held back by strong arms.  
"What the bloody hell is going on in here?"  
"Magnussen was attacking Jimmy!" Johnny blurted.  
"It's true," Jimmy choked. "Johnny was defending me."  
"Lies!" Magnussen spat, struggling against the authority holding him back. "I came to use the toilets and, well, I dare not say, professors. It's rather improper!"  
"Speak, lad!" demanded Magnussens' authority. "Well, Sir, to be quite honest, I witnessed Watson and Moriarty here engaging in acts of an unspeakable nature. You understand, Sir, don't you? Saw it with my own eyes. When I called them out, Watson leapt at me. Broke my glasses. Said if I told anyone, he'd break my nose!"  
"That's not true! Johnny shouted desperately. 'Acts of unspeakable nature?!' Johnny thought to himself. That was utter rubbish!  
"Let's get you lot to the headmaster's office. We can sort it all out there."

Johnny, Jimmy, and Magnussen sat in a row along a long conference table. Before them, on the other side, sat the two teacher that had broken up the scuffle in the lavatory and none other than a very displeased Headmaster himself.  
"Mister Moriarty, you can start first," the headmaster said.  
Jimmy gulped, and then blushed furiously. The headmaster raised an eyebrow.  
"It goes like this, Sir," Jimmy started shakily. "I was walking along, minding' my own, you see, when I was shoved into the loo by Magnussen."  
"Why?" asked the Headmaster.  
"Dunno," Jimmy said. "Why's anyone do anything? Fellows like him don't like fellows like me. So's I was on the floor, helpless, when by God there was Johnny here. Said if Magnussen didn't leave me, he'd 'give him a taste of his own medicine.'"  
Johnny nodded fervently in agreement.  
"But Magnussen kicked me all the same. Twice. Right in the belly. Almost lost me lunch, I did."  
The Headmaster rubbed the back of his neck, a sign of irritation. He heaved a heavy sigh.  
"Now tell me your bit, Mister Watson."  
"I was washing my face, Sir, in the lav, I was washing my face when the door flung open and Jimmy landed on the floor. Magnussen told him to stay put there. I...I didn't mean to lose control, but I just got so angry. Magnussen kicked Jimmy once in the stomach, and I told him to stop or else I'd have a go at him. Just like Jimmy said. But Magnussen didn't care, because he looked me right in the eye and kicked him again! Same place! I lost control of myself, Sir. I'm not proud. I know if I tried I could've just used my words to convince Magnussen to stop."  
Johnny was truly ashamed. He felt out of control lately, and this just proved how bad it really was.  
"Magnussen?" the Headmaster continued. His was the story he least wanted to hear and so it was saved for last.  
"I'd like to start by apologizing for the words I'm about to say," Magnussen said. "I've never been more embarrassed, Sir."  
"Get on with it, Magnussen," the headmaster begged.  
"Right. I don't normally use the lavatory in that corridor, by the Janitor's cupboard, but I found myself in great need, so I went. I turn the corner and to my horror, Sir, I find Watson and Moriarty, well, embracing, at the far end of the room. Just indecent."  
"Keep your comments to yourself. What happened after that?"  
"Of course, Sir. I said, 'Oi, what do you two think you're doing?' and Watson came over, mad as a bull, and grabbed me by my shirt and said that if I told anyone what I saw, Sir, he'd make me sorry. But my word wasn't good enough, Sir, he went and broke my glasses anyway. Said if I told, I'd get it worse next time."  
The Headmaster looked between the three boys and considered their words carefully. Magnussen, he knew, had a stellar reputation as a student. Top of his class, always polite and respectful, never in any trouble. Watson was much the same, though he recalled a time or two when he and that Holmes boy were in a spot of mischief. Never any real trouble, though. And then there was Moriarty. Little Jimmy. The headmaster looked upon him with pity. Jimmy was much smaller than the other boys. Possible the smallest in the school aside for some first-years. He was a bit late into puberty, given his slight shoulders, lack of muscle, and his hardly broken voice. The headmaster recalled many a time that Jimmy was in this very office, usually a bruise or two from other boys. Jimmy often found himself at the end of someone's boot.  
"Here's how this works," the Headmaster said, looking each boy in the eye. "You all know that violence is not tolerated in my school. As such, the evidence is clear that Mister Watson and Mister Magnussen have erred. You will each serve a week's detention and consider yourselves lucky that it's not suspension. I cannot attest to the truth in Mister Magnussen's unsavory accusations, but let it be known that fooling around in school lavatories is strictly prohibited and I dare say that I would be deeply disappointed in you Watson, and you Moriarty, were that true. Now. Mister Moriarty, you are free to leave. I suggest you find yourself to the school nurse and put some ice on that belly."

Johnny was informed his detention would be taking place in the cafeteria after school and he was sent on his way. Johnny caught up with Jimmy at the nurse's office.  
"Alright, Jimmy?" Johnny asked.  
"Yeah." Jimmy said with a weak smile. "The nurse isn't in, though. Think I'll just have a sit, catch my breath."  
"Mind if I join?"  
"Please do."  
Johnny sat in a chair across from Jimmy.  
"Thanks for sticking up for me," Jimmy said.  
"Don't mention it. Rubbish what Magnussen said, isn't it?"  
"Loads."  
"How's your belly?"  
Jimmy lifted his shirt and showed a large, purplish splotch across his abdomen. Johnny swore. He took it upon himself to find an ice-pack. It wasn't long before he did, and he wrapped it up in a few paper towels. He knelt before Jimmy and applied the ice-pack to the bruising.  
"Johnny, by the looks of this, people will talk." Jimmy said.  
"I'm gonna be a doctor one day," Johnny said. "Damn the people that talk. I'm just helping you."  
"Silly thing to accuse us of," Jimmy said, stifling a chuckle because it hurt his stomach. "Though, to be fair...were you someone else it may have been true."  
"Oh?" Johnny said, looking up at Jimmy. "Oh! So you're...?"  
"Don't act so surprised, Johnny. Everyone suspects it."  
"If I were you, I wouldn't do any jogging for a day or two," Johnny advised. "It's possible that he really hurt your intestines. I wouldn't eat too heavy, either."  
"Thanks, Johnny." Jimmy said with a smile. "You are the kindest person I've ever met."  
Johnny shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, by the way," he said. "That you're gay."  
"That's mighty decent of you."  
"My sister is the same, you know," Johnny continued. "But my parents...they're like Magnussen. They put her out only two months ago. I miss her."  
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said.  
"Me, too."  
There was a long silence. Jimmy was sitting in his chair, holding his hands in his lap, and Johnny still knelt there, holding the ice-pack to his bruise.  
"Well, I think if we stay here much longer, we're going to be late for class and we'll both have detention," Moriarty said.  
"You're right."  
They stood, and Johnny placed the ice-pack in the hand washing sink in the corner. Jimmy fixed his shirt, and turned to Johnny before leaving. He offered him his hand to shake. Johnny accepted.  
"You're a good guy," Jimmy said. "I hope I can repay you one day."  
"Don't mention it," Johnny said. For all the shame he felt for losing control and beating Magnussen up, it felt good that he helped someone.  
Jimmy held the handshake for perhaps a moment longer than necessary. Or perhaps it was Johnny. No one could say for sure. The eye contact was intense, prolonged.  
"Your hand is freezing!" Jimmy giggled, trying not to laugh too hard because it still hurt. This struck Johnny was funny, too, and the pair shared a moment of laughter, still shaking hands.  
It was safe to say that Charles Magnussen changed their lives that day, because starting just then, Johnny and Jimmy were friends.


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks passed. Johnny kept clear of Sherlock, and Sherlock kept clear of Johnny. Life went on without incident. A few classes had to be shuffled here and there, some schedules changed, and by the grace of God, Jimmy ended up in the same Physics class as Sherlock. Jimmy sat in the very back, four seats behind Sherlock, in fact. Today as he passed by, he accidentally knocked Sherlock's textbook and notes onto the floor.  
"Oops-a-daisy!" Jimmy exclaimed, scrambling to the floor to pick up the scattered items. He flopped Sherlock's belongings back on his desk and apologized and shuffled to his seat.  
Sherlock noticed immediately that there was a foreign scrap of paper in his things. It read:  
"My place, four O' clock.  
Sherlock casually tucked the scrap into his notebook and went on with his lesson.

"Briliant," Johnny praised, "absolutely brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?"  
"Because it's kind of me to suggest it, but rude for you. Since this is my house and all that."  
"I can't even begin to thank you," Johnny continued. "You've no idea how much I've missed Sherlock."

"Haven't I? You talk about him all the time. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're the gay one," Jimmy teased.  
"Shut up!" Johnny said, playfully shoving his new friend. "Honestly, I can't believe your foster parents let you have guys over and they aren't even concerned."  
"Well, there's no need for concern where none is due. Is there?"  
"No," Johnny agreed.  
Jimmy's foster mother called to them from the staircase.  
"Boys! Your friend is here! I'll just see him in."  
Shortly, Sherlock staggered into Jimmy's room where they three had their secret meetings. Johnny was so happy to see Sherlock. They only got to hang out once a week, maybe twice, and only ever at Jimmy's place. It was too dangerous to be seen in public together. Johnny felt butterflies flutter all about his tummy when he saw that head of curly black hair.  
"Hey," Sherlock said as he entered the room, sniffing loudly.  
"Hey," said Jimmy, waving at him.  
Johnny leapt across Jimmy's bedroom and gave Sherlock a tight squeeze. He took a step back to get a proper look at him and his smile was twisted into a frown.  
"Sherlock, your eyes...were you crying?"  
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said. "This room smells of lavender. And porn."  
"Sherlock!" Johnny exclaimed.  
"He's right," Jimmy said with a shrug. He plunked down on his bed and watched in amusement. Jimmy had heard of Sherlock's infamous deductions...the kind where he takes a peep at you with just one eye and can tell where you've been and who you were with for the last week.  
"What else can you tell?" Jimmy prodded.  
"You sleep curled on your right side, judging by the wrinkles in your bed." Sherlock offered.  
"Can you tell who else has been in here recently?"  
"Shall I say it out loud?"  
"Please do," Jimmy asked. I'd be ever so delighted, he added privately. It was all he could do to keep the grin from his face. Sherlock at his finest; a sight to behold. It gave him the chills in such a badly good way.  
"Henry whatshisname," Sherlock said confidently.  
"Absolutely correct."  
Johnny sat down at Jimmy's desk chair, and looked hard at Sherlock. His eyes were super-focused, watery and red. His nose was a bit red underneath, as well. He kept sniffling. Johnny would have thought Sherlock had a cold, except Sherlock was lucky and never seemed to get sick.  
"Morphine or cocaine?" Johnny asked, his voice turning cold.  
"Hm?"  
"Eh?" Jimmy asked.  
"Which is it, Sherlock? Morphine or cocaine?"  
"Cocaine."  
Johnny wiped his hand down his face in aggravation.  
"I can't believe you!" Johnny hissed. "Of all the stupid things!"  
"It helps me think, Johnny." Sherlock reasoned.  
"It helps you die faster," Johnny spat back. "This is the reason we can't be friends!"  
"We can't be friends because your parents are rightly worried that your relationships with people such as your sister and me influence your actions."  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
Jimmy sat comfortably in his bed and watched the two bicker. He was forgotten in his own bedroom. Just as well, this was better than any Cluedeo game they three could play.  
"I will call Mycroft," Johnny threatened.  
Sherlock's already intense face turned to stone.  
"I will call your mother," he whispered.  
Sherlock knew that if Johnny called Mycroft, he'd have Hell to pay. But Johnny knew it was the same if Sherlock called his mother.  
"Or, the third option;" Jimmy offered, "we all just forget this happened."  
"A sound offer," Sherlock admitted. "I will leave now. You won't call Mycroft, and I won't call your mother."  
"Fine," Johnny said bitterly.  
It appeared they had a truce. Until Johnny lunged at Sherlock, toppling him to the ground. Sherlock shoved Johnny off and they scrambled to their feet. John swung at Sherlock's face and struck him with his fist across the cheek. Sherlock rebounded by clapping his hands hard over Johnny's ears, upsetting his natural balance. Jimmy did nothing to stop the fight, and the two even broke his lamp in their struggle, and would have done worse had Jimmy's foster mother not come up and booted them out.  
It was safe to say that neither Sherlock nor Johnny were allowed back at Jim's place.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
Hours later, Johnny was laying in his own bed. It was the early hours of the morning, and quite cold, but he was sweating and in tears. He was so angry with Sherlock, the idiot crept his way into his dreams. Strange dreams, they were. Strange indeed. He kept revisiting his fight with Sherlock earlier, but instead of feeling pain when Sherlock struck him, he woke up feeling jazzy in places he didn't want to be when dreaming about Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
"Are you alright?" Molly whispered to Sherlock. Lately she noticed that Sherlock wasn't himself. Ever-empathetic Molly could see right through people, a quality most people never knew because most people never paid her much mind.  
Sherlock didn't hear her, or perhaps he ignored her. He tended to "not hear" lots of things, particularly personal questions. Molly decided to leave Sherlock to his devices. It was never any use talking to him if he didn't want to talk. Plus, Molly wasn't the type to pry. Still, she felt she needed to do something.  
After class, Molly snuck over to Sherlock's locker, which she knew he never used but always checked. She was certain he was using it as a mailbox, for smuggling notes to the underclassmen; his "network", as he called them. She pushed a folded piece of paper into the vent of the locker and went on her way, unseen, unnoticed, as always.  
Later that day, Sherlock checked his locker in hopes of some news from seventh-grade Wiggins, his chief informant of the goings-on that Sherlock wanted to know about. The deal was, that Wiggins had Sherlock's locker combination. When Wiggins had news, he'd write Sherlock a note, open the locker, place the note in the letter bag, and take his payment that Sherlock always left for him. A few pieces of candy and gum per note. Sometimes something really good, like a fraudulent Nurse's pass if the news was especially hard to come by.  
But instead of a note from Wiggins, he found a note from someone else.  
"Dearest Sherlock," the note read: "I hope you're okay. I can tell that you're distracted lately, and sad. I know you miss Johnny :-( But I will always, always be here if you need me, for anything. xoxo Molly"  
Sherlock stared at the note for a moment, thoroughly puzzled. He blinked hard, stared at it some more, and then neatly folded it back up and tucked it into his coat pocket.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

At home, in his dim-lit bedroom, Sherlock sank into his bed, sitting hunched at the middle, lost in his many thoughts. On the other side of the room stood a wooden chair facing this bed. That was Johnny's chair. It hadn't been sat upon in an age.  
Johnny is forbidden to be my friend, Sherlock told himself. That is fact. Without me, Johnny has become quite popular. That's to be expected. Johnny is so personable. But what doesn't make sense is that without Johnny, I too have become more...less alone. Irene Adler introduced herself the very next day of my separation from Johnny. In fact, I noticed Johnny and James Moriarty getting chummy the same day. What can it mean? What does it mean?  
"Sherlock?" a voice from outside the door called.  
"What?" Sherlock snapped. "I'm busy."  
The door creaked open slowly to reveal a tall young man, with a serious face and a few frown lines to show for it. He had neatly combed hair and a crisp suit and tie. His shoes were shined and his back erect.  
"Busy, indeed," sneered Mycroft.  
Sherlock made an obnoxious face at him.  
"You're lucky mother isn't here," Mycroft told him, stepping into the atrocity of Sherlock's room. "you wouldn't want to upset her, would you?"  
"Upset her? Me?"  
"I've heard it from good authority that you've been using again."  
"And what authority is that?"  
"None of your concern."  
Mycroft began inspecting Sherlock's belongings. Checking the bookshelf, under the piles of dirty clothes, in the lampshade.  
"You won't find anything," Sherlock said.  
"Not if I listen to you," Mycroft said. He performed a lengthy search, and was not above digging through Sherlock's overflowing hamper. Still, there was nothing of consequence to be found.  
"Move," Mycroft ordered, standing in front of Sherlock's bed.  
"What, you think I've hidden the stuff under my mattress?" Sherlock asked with a haughty snort.  
"That's exactly what I think, brother mine. Now move."  
"No."  
"Move, Sherlock."  
"No!"  
Mycroft seized Sherlock by the shoulders and the brothers grappled, ending in Sherlock on the floor. Behold, Mycroft the triumphant!  
Mycroft lifted Sherlock's mattress and pulled out dozens of sheets of papers.  
"What's all this?"  
"Nothing!" Sherlock said, scrambling to hide them all. Mycroft ripped a page from Sherlock's fingers. In Mycrofts hands was a paper with a photo of a student, from Sherlock's school, with details about that person. Mycroft examined another piece of paper, and another still.  
"Have you...made files about your classmates?" Mycroft asked, slightly concerned.  
"Yes," Sherlock said, rather annoyed. "Not just my classmates. I have the whole school in there. Graduates get tossed in the rubbish. I have no use for them."  
"Why?"  
"Just in case."  
Mycroft looked at a few more papers and to his great interest saw the file on James Moriarty.  
"Who's this?"  
"You can read."  
"Stay away from him," Mycroft warned his brother.  
"Why?"  
"Because he's not one I want you becoming pals with. Understand?"  
"No need to worry. He's not my friend." Sherlock said. "Except, brother, I do have one question."  
"What is it?"  
"If you had to ask who James Moriarty is, how could you know if he's the kind of person I should be making friends with?"  
"Mind your business."  
"That was dreadfully obvious," Sherlock said disappointedly. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."  
"I am the smart one. Listen to me Sherlock, that boy is bad news."  
Sherlock frowned. "Bad news for Johnny?"  
"Bad news for everyone. Is that why you're so depressed lately?" Mycroft asked, sitting down on Sherlock's bed. "I told you, Sherlock, having friends is not an advantage. And friends never stick around for long, do they?"  
"It's not his fault. Johnny's bloody parents. They hate me."  
"I wonder why."  
"I've never given Johnny any of my drugs!" Sherlock said angrily. "Never offered, and he'd never take any if I had. Johnny's good. Why can't they see that? Besides, I've been clean for quite some time."  
"My sources say otherwise."  
"Then your sources are wrong!" Sherlock shouted.  
"I know you were at Moriarty's house with Johnny. I know you were high. The evidence was plain."  
"He told you?"  
"That's ridiculous. Johnny Watson would never betray you Sherlock, you know that."  
"You're right. But I wasn't high!"  
"Puffy bloodshot eyes? The sniffles? We both know you don't get colds, Sherlock. What do those symptoms sound like?" Mycroft asked with a tut. But then his eyes widened and his lips cracked into a sort of smile. "Unless..."  
"Shut up, Mycroft!"  
"You were weeping."  
"I was not," Sherlock said.  
"I told you before, Sherlock, and I will tell you again. All lives will end, and all hearts will break. Caring is not an advantage."  
And with that, Mycroft patted his little brother on the shoulder and left. Mycroft knew that Sherlock always struggled emotionally. He was always so sensitive. Even now, after he'd learned to divorce himself from feelings as well as he was able. For some reason, Johnny Watson wormed his way into Sherlock's cold heart. No, for Sherlock, caring was not an advantage, because then he could be so easily destroyed.  
"Blame teenage hormones!" Sherlock shouted after Mycroft. Surely that was his problem. Just chemicals in his body, causing him to overreact in situations that were he matured enough, he would remain calm. Alas, Mycroft was gone, and Sherlock was left to his thinking once more.  
Now then, he thought. What does bad Jimmy Moriarty want with good Johnny Watson?


	8. Chapter 8

"Run faster!" Addie screeched as she bolted across the private property she and Sherlock Holmes were trespassing on. Sherlock wasn't far behind. There was a police officer chasing them through the fenced-off field and all Sherlock could do was marvel at how fast Addie could run. His legs were far longer than hers, plus as a male he should naturally be stronger. He made a mental note that he wanted to test the correlation between size, gender, and speed on foot.  
"Did you get the samples?" Sherlock asked, gaining on Addie. "The mud? Did you get it?"  
"I did! Now shut up and run!"  
They stopped dead at a high wire fence.  
"We have to climb it," Sherlock said. Easier for him, being so tall.  
"We have to hurry!" Addie hissed. The officer wasn't far now. Sherlock dropped to one knee and wove his fingers together, palms up.  
"Step on, I'll boost you over the top." He said. "Quickly now!"  
Addie placed her foot in Sherlock's hands and gripped his shoulder for support.  
"One, two, three!" Sherlock said, rising into his thrust that sent Addie high enough to get a leg up over the top.  
"Thanks!" Addie said as she dropped down. Sherlock wasted no time. He needed a running start, but he could do it. He ran a few feet back, and upon seeing clearly the features of the officer's face, he was more than motivated to fly at the fence. He leapt, clung to the wire, and got the toe of his shoe into a hole in the fence of support. He was almost over when he was grabbed at the leg by a strong hand.  
"Get off!" Sherlock yelled.  
"You best just climb down son," the officer said. "I've caught you. You're done."  
The officer then pointed to Addie on the other side. "And you as well, young man."  
Sherlock balanced at the top of the fence, straddling the wire. It was a dangerous act, he admitted. One slip and there went his manhood. He decided on whether or not he wanted to jump to freedom, with Addie, or jump to juvenile delinquency with Officer Stupidface.  
"Sherlock?" Addie said, looking up at him.  
"Yes?"  
"I'm sorry," she said, and ran for her life. Sherlock closed his eyes and bowed his head...he should have known. But wait...Clever Addie! She wasn't saving herself, she was saving the soil samples.  
"Don't make me tear you from the fence, boy," the officer warned.  
Sherlock leapt down from the fence to meet the officer.  
"Oh!" Sherlock said, barely containing a laugh. "Gary!"  
"It's Greg," the officer said annoyed. "Officer Lestrade to you!"  
"Yes, alright. Officer Lestrade."  
"What'd you think you and that boy were doing, trespassing here?" Officer Lestrade asked, guiding Sherlock with a hand on his back.  
"That boy is a girl," Sherlock informed him.  
"What?"  
"Truly."  
"What's she dressed like a boy for?"  
"How should I know?"  
Lestrade grumbled something.  
"Look, Sherlock, I'm sure you's was up to nothing too bad, but this place is dangerous. I like you, son, but I can't keep letting you off."  
"What're you saying?"  
"You know what I'm saying, Sherlock. I have specific instructions regarding you," Lestrade said, a hint of apology in his voice.  
"Oh, God," Sherlock complained. "Mycroft."  
"You think I like it any better?" Lestrade asked. "A kid barely old enough to grow a full beard, in charge of me? It's rubbish, between you and me. But orders is orders. I have to bring you home."  
"I'm frightened," Sherlock sassed.  
"You worry your poor mother, you know."  
"Yes."  
"Why do you do the things you do, Sherlock?"  
"What else can I do? My mind rebels at stagnation. I need problems. I need work, Jeff."  
Lestrade chortled. "If you keep out of trouble till then, you'd make a great detective for the Yard."  
"Why would I want to be?" Sherlock asked indignantly.  
Lestrade patted Sherlock on the back. They had arrived at Lestrade's police cruiser.  
"You're a good kid, Sherlock. You just have a determination to prove it otherwise."  
Sherlock climbed into the passenger seat and made himself comfortable. Lestrade gave him a look.  
"What? I'm not under arrest, am I?" Sherlock asked. "Besides, you were just telling me what a good kid I am. Surely you can allow me the privilege of riding in the passenger seat. We are friends, after all."  
"Just this once," Lestrade told him. "You're supposed to be in trouble, you know."  
"With who?" Sherlock asked. "As long as Mycroft is in charge of you, I'll never be in any real trouble."

Addie was in the chemistry lab at school, dripping a solution into some dried mud chips to test for brick dust.  
"That was quick thinking yesterday," Sherlock said suddenly from behind. "I'm impressed."  
"Or course you are. You don't ever think anyone else but yourself can be clever," Addie said whimsically.  
"That's not true."  
"Isn't it?"  
"Alright, it's true. But it's a compliment."  
"Have you started writing the compositions yet?" Addie asked.  
"Yes," Sherlock said, sitting down beside her.  
"Good," she said. There was an amicable moment of silence in which the pair examined their findings.  
"'So, the orchestra concert is the day after tomorrow." Addie mentioned.  
"So it is."  
"I hear you play the violin. Are you in it?"  
"Yes."  
"Me, too. I play the flute."  
"Johnny plays the clarinet."  
"How irrelevant," Addie remarked. "Did you know this school has a boxing club?"  
"Of course. I'm on varsity."  
"I tried to get in, but there's not enough girls to make a group, and they won't let girls face off against boys."  
"Rightly so. Males have a denser muscle mass than most females, they weigh more, and they're generally faster. I've tested this. It would be a physical disadvantage for a girl to box a boy."  
"I'd kick your ass all 'round the ring till you begged for mercy twice," Addie said heatedly.  
Sherlock stared at her.  
"I've never begged for mercy in my life."  
"Twice," Addie reminded him. "What do you say to an unofficial boxing match between us friends, eh? We'll use the ring after school."  
"Why?" Sherlock asked.  
"Because I want to box but I can't because I'm a girl and it's unfair."  
"Why ask me to correct this shortsightedness on the behalf of the headmaster?"  
"Are you chicken?" Addie teased. "Afraid to get beat by a girl?"  
"I've never been beaten," Sherlock said, his face deadly serious. "I'm the highest champion boxer this school has seen since 1938."  
"Then you should have no worries about fighting me."  
"Fine," Sherlock said. "But don't get cross when you lose."

Sherlock allowed in his lonesome of the boy's locker room the gleam of his teeth to shine through his smile. This was going to be a very amusing match. Addie clearly had advertised the even to the whole school, because there were at least fifty spectators gathered 'round the ring. If he was not mistaken, he heard a guy organizing a gambling pool.  
"The Strong Sherlock Holmes or the Ferocious Miss Addie?" he called out. "Make your bets now!"  
Sherlock saw himself inside the ring. He saw dozens of people from school, but he did not see Johnny. He wore his boxing shorts and nothing else, as per usual. To his disgust he heard a suggestive whistle from the crowd, no doubt for his bare chest.  
Then, Addie pranced into the ring. She wore school uniform shorts and a short-sleeved button-down with suspenders.  
"We need a referee!" she told the crowd. "Any volunteers?"  
A few people presented themselves and Sherlock shooed them all away.  
"We need someone with experience," he said.  
"I could do it."  
And there was Molly Hooper.  
"You?" Sherlock scoffed.  
"I've been to every match since first year," she said. "I can do it."  
"Excellent!" Addie said. "Let's get started then, shall we?"  
Molly went over the official rules of boxing very well. When Addie and Sherlock had fist-bumped (as they could not shake hands, for they were wearing boxing gloves), Molly stepped back, whistled through her fingers, and the game was on.  
Molly watched intently but prayed that Sherlock wouldn't get hurt. She couldn't take the sight of him in pain if he were.  
Sherlock and Addie circled each other. Sherlock was deciding how he could take Addie down for the ten seconds without really hurting her. She was at a severe disadvantage. He perceived she was five feet, five inches, like Johnny, but she was only one hundred and eleven pounds, unlike Johnny who was one hundred and twenty-eight.  
Sherlock was five feet, eleven inches, had at least twenty-five pounds on Addie, plus he was clearly stronger than her.  
Sherlock took the first swing, aiming for her abdomen. Since there were no head shots allowed. But she jumped back, then sprang forward on one foot and used the other to side-swipe Sherlock's leg, knocking him straight on his back. But that wasn't nearly enough to keep him down. He shot back up, and tried to corner her, but she was fast and ducked behind him. Now he was cornered. Addie's strength was clearly her speed, which allowed her to dance around the ring and avoid being hit. Cornering Sherlock was a mistake, because to keep him there, she'd have to stay put. She only trapped herself.  
Sherlock tried a forceful blow to her side with his foot, but again she dodged him. But she took the opportunity when he only had one foot on the ground to again sideswipe him, but as he fell, this time forward to his knee, she uppercut under his chin and sent him flying back into siding.  
Sherlock was positively blown away by the strength she packed into that one punch. He could tell already that his jaw would feel out of place for a day or two. Before he could recover himself, Addie smashed her fist into the space between his shoulder and neck, and he was down. She leapt upon him, jamming her knee into his solar plexus, driving the wind right out of him.  
Molly began the count. "One, two..."  
He tried flipping Addie off him, but the more he struggled against her, the less he could breathe.  
"Five..."  
Addie pinned his arms to the floor, preventing him from punching her face. She was deliberately crushing him now. All her weight rested in that one knee, squeezing his breath out, and preventing any from coming back in.  
"Seven..."  
"Beg," Addie growled.  
"No!" Sherlock wheezed.  
She drove her knee ever harder into him and it was all he could do to cry out.  
"Beg now in secret or I'll tell everyone that you did."  
"Nine..."  
"Please!" Sherlock hissed through his teeth. "Please."  
"Ten!"  
Addie jumped off of Sherlock and danced around in victory. Sherlock curled on his side and tried to breathe.  
"Sherlock!" Molly cried, falling to his side, wiping his hair from his eyes. "Let me see!"  
But Sherlock wheezed at Molly to go away. He was fine. He could feel a welt under his chin and taste blood in his mouth. His lungs were screaming at him. But he couldn't take his eyes off Addie.


	9. Chapter 9

It was Johnny's final day of detention for beating up Charles Magnussen in a bathroom. He was to be cleaning in the cafeteria. When he got there, he was surprised to see a cafeteria worker sitting at a table by herself with two plates of food.  
"Johnny Watson!" she said, ever so pleased to see him.  
"Mrs. Hudson?" Johnny asked. "What's going on?"  
"Detention, dearie." Mrs. Hudson said, waving him over. "Come one, let's get on with it."  
Johnny sat down next to her, looking stupidly between her and the food.  
"I don't understand," he said.  
"This is my cafeteria, I decide what work needs to be done. And I say that this food needs eating," she told him firmly. "Now eat it up before it gets cold."  
Johnny burst out laughing.  
"Mrs. Hudson! You are a wonderful woman."  
Johnny Watson was possibly Mrs. Hudson's favorite student in the whole school. He was charming, polite, and always ate his veggies.  
"You're looking rather thin, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "Tell Mrs. Hudson what's eating at you."  
Johnny cleared his throat.  
"Just stress, I guess," he said uneasily.  
"I haven't seen Sherlock about in a while," she said. "It always warmed my little heart to see you two sitting together at lunch."  
"Yeah. Well, we aren't friends anymore."  
Mrs. Hudson gasped.  
"Was he not treating you right?" she asked. "I know when I was your age, I wouldn't stand foolishness from my boyfriends."  
"He's not my boyfriend." Johnny said quickly. "Why does everybody think that?"  
Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Love is blind," she told him. "You don't see the way you two look at each other."

Johnny sat at his desk in his room, buried in his thoughts. You two don't see the way you look at each other. What could that mean? He was so frustrated with himself and everyone he was on the verge of taking his chair in his hands and smashing it into the floor. Instead he gripped a pencil to hold his composure.  
"Johnny, sweetheart?" his mother called from outside his bedroom door.  
"Yeah?" Johnny said, struggling to keep his voice calm.  
"There's someone here to see you."  
The pencil in his hand snapped. He was in no mood for visitors. He opened his door and to his surprise was greeted by the dominating presence that was none other than Mycroft Holmes.  
"Good evening, Johnny," he said cordially.  
"Um, hey." Johnny said, stepping aside and letting Mycroft in his room. Mycroft closed the door behind him.  
"I'm here to ask you a favor," Mycroft said, getting right to the point.  
"Which is?"  
"I want you to be Sherlock's friend again." Mycroft said.  
"Yeah, well it's not really up to me, is it?" Johnny said, kicking aside a stray tennis shoe in his path.  
Mycroft pulled a folded piece of paper from his the inside of his breast pocket. "I have here," he said with a smile, "your sister's address and phone number."  
Johnny's jaw hung slack. "You do?"  
"Indeed. I think you should pay her a little visit."  
"Why are you doing this?"  
"Consider it payment in advance for...being whatever it is to my brother that you are."  
"Friends!"  
"I'm sure," Mycroft said with a knowing smile. "I fear my little brother is at a loss without Johnny Watson to keep him right. I confess I don't know how you do it."  
"Friends don't let friends take drugs, that's all."  
"Is it?" Mycroft asked, raising his voice.  
"For the last time!" Johnny hissed. "Sherlock was not my boyfriend!"  
Mycroft appeared to have trouble getting out his next words.  
"I don't pretend to know what goes on in Sherlock's mind," he told Johnny. "But it doesn't take a genius to see that he needs you."  
Mycroft gave Johnny Harry's new address.  
"Go. Visit your sister. Elder siblings always have wise words to share."  
Mycroft then showed himself out. Johnny was left feeling more confused than angry. He wasn't sure he liked Mycroft. Mostly because he was mysterious and frightening. He always spoke in riddles, like he knew things about you even you didn't know.  
Johnny contemplated how he'd be able to use the phone to call his sister without his parents knowing. Then with a start he remembered that it was date night, and his parents were going to the cinemas. They'd be gone for at least two hours, maybe three. How convenient for Mycroft to show up today!  
He waited until his parents were gone for the night. He hadn't spoken to his sister in months. He was almost nervous. He dialed the number and waited anxiously for her to pick up. It took four rings.  
"Hello?"  
"Harry?"  
"Yeah. Who's this?"  
"It's Johnny."

Harry was home in ten minutes. Johnny let her in and she burst through the door, crushing him in a long-overdue hug.  
"My God," she said, taking a step back and looking him over. "You've changed so much! You're taller. Thinner. Is that...a whisker?"  
Johnny laughed. "I can't believe you came."  
"Course I came. I hate you, but you're still my little brother."  
"I hate you too," Johnny said, hugging her once more.  
"I'm sorry I haven't called. Or visited." Harry said. "But I didn't want to get you into trouble."  
"I know. It's a good thing, too, actually. I've been getting into trouble easily enough by myself as it is."  
"Are you really?" Harry asked, surprised. They laid down on opposite ends of Johnny's bed, so their heads were side by side in the middle, their legs hanging off the sides.  
Johnny told Harry all about what was happening in his life since she left. School sucked massively, being home sucked even harder, because all Mum and Dad do is fight with each other and fight with him. Then, he wasn't allowed to be friends with Sherlock anymore. How he made friends with Jimmy unexpectedly. But he still sorely missed Sherlock. In fact, sometimes his own thoughts began to worry him.  
"Worry you?" Harry asked.  
Johnny bit his lip. How could he ask this?  
"Harry, how did you know you're gay?"  
"Because I like boobs, that's how."  
"Be serious!" Johnny begged.  
"Look, Johnny," Harry said, sitting up and turning to face him. "From the time I was old enough to go to school, I knew I was different. But it's not so much knowing as it is feeling. Your head can tell you all sorts of things, and turn you this way and that. But your heart...your heart only says what it means, and it's up to each of us to listen to it."  
"That doesn't help me much," Johnny said forlornly. "Most of the time I don't know what I'm feeling."  
"Feel what you feel, Johnny. Stop thinking about it. Whatever your problem is, don't let your head boss your heart around. That's how you end up alone and lonely for the rest of your life, like Mycroft."  
Johnny laughed.  
"What're you trying to tell me, Johnny?" Harry asked, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
He swallowed hard. He knew he could trust Harry with this, above all people. But that didn't make it easy to say.  
"I always liked girls," Johnny began. "Girls are pretty. Girls smell nice..."  
"Go on," Harry said encouragingly.  
"But there's this...guy." He was having real trouble speaking now. All Harry could do was pat his back and let him know that whatever he had to say, he could trust her.  
"He's tall. He's good looking. He's smart. And I like that he's tall, good looking and smart. Actually, he smells nice, too...and now that he's not around, I miss him a lot. In fact, I can't stop thinking about him. But he's so stupid and ruins everything! But I don't wanna feel like this, Harry. I don't know what it means. It's not normal."  
"Oh, Johnny," Harry said sadly, fiddling with his hair. "Love is complicated. There's nothing not normal about it."  
"I'm so angry," Johnny confessed. "All the time! All I want to do is punch people."  
"Want to know what I think?" Harry asked.  
"Yeah."  
"I think that your mind is beating up your heart. You keep telling yourself your feelings aren't right, or normal, or even real. But your heart can't help the way it feels, and it's sick of being beaten down. That's why you get so angry. Your heart is translating its frustration into violence."  
There was a clicking at the front door, the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked. Which told them that their parents were home, and Harry needed to be gone.  
"What do I do?" Johnny whispered desperately.  
Harry quickly kissed his cheek.  
"That's up to you, isn't it?" she asked. She slipped out Johnny's window. It was a blessing they were on the first floor.


	10. Chapter 10

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
Molly Hooper stood at her locker, organizing her books, when Sherlock slammed himself into the locker next, gaining her attention and that of everyone in the vicinity. He bent down and whispered in her ear.  
"Meet me in the science lab at lunch."  
Before Molly could even ask why, Sherlock was gone, no trace of him having been there at all.

"Well, come on in. Don't be a stranger, Johnny." Jimmy said waving his new friend into his bedroom once again.  
"Are you sure it's okay for me to be here? Last time your mum said I wasn't allowed back after Sherlock showed up like he did."  
Jimmy laughed.  
"First of all, Mummy isn't here," he said, tossing himself comfortably onto his bed. "And secondly, I can get whatever I want in God's green earth if call Pam and Lawrence Mum and Dad."  
Johnny sat down against the wall. "Isn't that kind of...mean? Using them like that?"  
"Oh, please." Jimmy said, beginning to sound annoyed. "What's mean is sticking me with morons like them for parents. I can't wait till I'm of age and can waltz out of here."  
"Oh," Johnny said, surprised to hear all that. He never knew Jimmy felt that way about his foster parents, who were just about the kindest and most loving couple Johnny had ever seen. Lately, he'd give his right leg to have that at home.  
"So," Jimmy said, stretching like a cat in the sun. "What shall we do?"  
"Hm. I dunno." Johnny shrugged.  
"Oh!" Jimmy exclaimed, rocketing upright. "Let's play a game!"  
"Alright, then."  
"Truth or dare?"  
"Really?" Johnny snorted. "Okay. Truth."  
"Pshh! Chicken." Jimmy teased. "Have you ever been kissed?"  
"Course I have. Truth or dare?"  
"Dare."  
"I dare you to pluck out some eyebrow hairs."  
Johnny and Jimmy dashed to the loo and found some tweezers, which Jimmy happily applied to his brow and ripped a fair few hairs out, groaning loudly as he did.  
"Truth or dare?" he asked his friend.  
"Truth."  
"You're no fun," Jimmy whined. "I just plucked out my good eyebrow hair for you and you wanna go truth?"  
"Yep."  
"Ugh. Fine. What's the farthest you got with a girl and what's her name?"  
"I won't tell you her name, but I got under her bra."  
"It's the name of the game, Johnny boy, you have to tell me her name!"  
Johnny screwed his eyes shut and shamefully revealed the girl's name.  
"Mary Morstan."  
"No WAY!" Jimmy giggled. "Her? You and her? Her and you? My GOD."  
"Truth o-"  
"Dare!"  
"Okay...er...I dare you to drink the five ingredients I choose from your fridge."  
Now they scrambled to the fridge and Johnny carefully selected the menu. A few fresh grapes, hot mustard, cooked pork, tapioca pudding and orange juice went into the mix.  
"Oh, God." Jimmy said as they watched it blend. Johnny poured him a glass of the poison and Jimmy raised it in a toast.  
"For queen and country!" he said, and sucked down the whole glass, gagging as he did so.  
Now, the two were in a proper laughing fit.  
"Truth or dare?" Jimmy asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
"Dare."  
"I dare you to tell me the truth."  
"Oh, come on!"  
"Do it, Johnny. Or forever be a pig."  
"Fine. What do you wanna know?"  
"Have you ever been in love?"  
"I guess. I dunno. I thought I was."  
"Are you in love right now?"  
"You don't get to ask two truths at once," Johnny told him, still amiably. "Cheater."  
"Fine. Your turn."  
"Truth or dare?"  
"Truth," Jimmy said, just to spite Johnny.  
"Have you ever been kissed?" Johnny figured that if Jimmy was gonna play like this, he might as well join in.  
"No," Jimmy said sadly.  
"Really?"  
"Really. Look at me, Johnny. I'm a sixteen year old trapped in a twelve year olds' body. Would you want to kiss me?"  
"Well, I'm not gay, so, no."  
"Come on, you know that's not what I mean."  
The game was changed. Now it was just truth. Just telling secrets.  
"I suppose if you were a girl, I might."  
"What if you were the girl?"  
"Well, then, you wouldn't be so interested, would you?" Johnny asked.  
"No," Jimmy conceded. "But suppose I was a girl. You'd kiss me? Right now?"  
"Yeah, sure. I've kissed loads of girls, what's one more?"  
"Who's turn is it to ask the question?" Jimmy asked,  
"Yours, I think."  
"Truth or dare?"  
"Dare."  
A gleam ignited in Jimmy's eyes as Johnny had never seen.  
"I dare you to kiss me."  
"Jimmy, I just told you twice that I'm not gay. How many times must I say it?  
"Pretend I'm a girl," Jimmy suggested.  
"No way!" Johnny protested.  
"Oh, come on! It doesn't have to mean anything. In fact, it won't. I'm just curious, that's all. Like I said, I never been kissed before. What's the harm, Johnny?"  
"Jimmy, I'm just not into it. Alright?" Johnny said heatedly. Blood was rising in his face the longer Jimmy stared him down.  
"Loads of blokes at school are always touching each other in the locker room...doesn't make them gay, does it? Just boys being boys, right?" Jimmy continued. "And not for nothing, but if you were a girl, and you asked me to kiss you right now, I'd do it."  
"Alright!" Johnny shouted, incredibly pressured. "I'll do it. But you had better never speak of this. To anyone. Got that?"  
A charming gleam reflected off Jimmy's wide, toothy grin.  
"Not a word."  
Johnny slowly walked across Jimmy's bedroom and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.  
"Make it worth the while, Johnny," Jimmy said, barely containing himself.  
"Shut up."  
Johnny fixed his eyes on Jimmy's mouth. If he forgot the rest of Jimmy's face, and focused only on his mouth, he supposed it could belong to a girl. Girl Jimmy might be cute. Then again, she might not be. Oh, what did it matter? Lips were lips, as far as anatomy was concerned, whether on a girl or a boy, and a kiss was a kiss and nothing more!  
Johnny leaned towards Jimmy, slowly, until finally their lips touched, and to Johnny's small surprise, nothing bad happened. There was nothing so strange about it, after all. It was even still okay when Jimmy's hand found Johnny's arm and gripped it gently. But as soon as it started, the kiss was over and Jimmy and Johnny sat in a moment of silence.  
"That was...nice," Jimmy said. All the joking malice in his voice from earlier was gone.  
"Yeah," Johnny agreed, looking back at Jimmy.  
They fell back into an embrace, the floodgates ripped open. Their lips assaulted with hard, ravenous kisses and open-mouthed clashes of teeth and tongues. Jimmy so hungrily tasted for the first time the affections what Johnny didn't realize that he himself longed for.  
Finally, they broke apart, out of breath and shaking.  
"Thank you, Johnny," Jimmy whispered, absently wiping away the wetness from this lower lip. "I'll never speak a word."  
"Nor shall I," Johnny said, quickly standing. "I-I have to go. See you at school."


	11. Chapter 11

The phone in Jimmy's bedroom rang some two hours later.  
"What?" he answered.  
"I've got what you asked for," a voice said.  
"Have you really?"  
"Right here in my hands."  
"Good. Bring it to school tomorrow and leave it between the fourth and fifth urinals in the boys' loo in the English and Social Studies wing. If it's not there when the assembly starts, I will make sure you're transferred to another school district before the year is out."  
"Understood."  
Jimmy slammed the receiver down in anger but he smiled to himself. Things were falling into place so nicely.

Now we lay our scene in the boy's lavatory in the English and Social Studies wing, just as the assembly began.  
"I will drop out of the science fair, leaving you with the sole credit for the project we've done together. It's certain to win. You know that." Sherlock said. "All you have to do is give me that folder, and we will both walk away with what we want."  
"If this folder gets to where it's going, I get two things I want," Addie informed him, her face hard.  
"What are those two things? I get to win the science fair, and I get to stay."  
"Stay?"  
"Yes. Stay. Here, at this school. Until I graduate."  
"Addie, where are you taking that folder?"  
"Why's it so important to you?" Addie asked. "You don't even know what's inside."  
"I know it's blackmail against Johnny Watson. And I will do everything I can to stop you from delivering it."  
The door burst open and in strolled Jimmy Moriarty.  
"Well, well, what a surprise!" he said cheerily. "Fancy meeting you here, Sherlock."  
Sherlock at last understood.  
"Him?" he said, pointing at Jimmy. "You're giving that to him? I should have known."  
"You really should have," Jimmy tutted, taking the folder from Addie and looking over its contents with an immensely pleased look on his face.  
"What do you want from Johnny Watson?" Sherlock asked heatedly.  
"I've already got what I want from Johnny boy," Jimmy said. "Now all I need is what I want from you."  
"And what is that?"  
"Same thing I got from Johnny," Jimmy said, passing the folder to Sherlock.  
Sherlock gingerly opened the folder and saw just what he expected: blackmail. But not the kind he anticipated. For inside the folder was a large printed photograph of who was clearly Johnny Watson and Jimmy Moriarty in a compromising embrace.  
"He's quite the kisser," Jimmy said.  
"How...?" Sherlock asked, beguiled.  
"You're so stupid, Sherlock," Moriarty spat, turning cross. "I really thought you'd be able to see what I've done here. Well, it's not important. Soon my special guest will arrive and we can begin."  
"Special guest?"  
"Oh, yes. You can't make a deal with the devil and not have a few witnesses."  
"You want me...to give you what Johnny gave you?" Sherlock asked, piecing it all together. "To make a deal with the devil?"  
The photo of Johnny and Jimmy was of them kissing. That much was obvious. A deal with the devil? Jimmy must have been referring to a crossroads deal, in which a person sells his soul to a demon, alternatively, the devil, in exchange for something they want. The deal is sealed with a kiss. Always. Now at last he understood.  
"You want me to kiss you?  
"With passion," Moriarty said evilly.  
Again, the door opened and in walked a confused Johnny Watson.  
"What the hell is going on in here?" Johnny asked, looking between the three of them.  
"Ah, Johnny, right on time!" Jimmy said, clapping his hands together. "Lets begin, shall we?"  
"Begin what?" Johnny asked, his eyes narrowed.  
"Go on, Sherlock. Fill Johnny in." Jimmy told him.  
"Johnny," Sherlock said. "In this folder is a compromising photo of you and Jimmy."  
Johnny looked between the three of them again, confusion on his face. Sherlock handed him the folder and at the sight of the photo Johnny turned beet red.  
"You met Jimmy the day after we were forbidden to be friends, isn't that correct?" Sherlock asked Johnny.  
Johnny nodded.  
"And I met Addie. Hardly a coincidence that the moment we're apart, we start getting popular. Jimmy and Addie were against us from the start." Sherlock explained. "They each befriended us to gain our trust, in the hopes of achieving some personal ends. Addie wants to win the science fair, and apparently Jimmy wants my...my affections."  
"Those cheekbones," Jimmy said, licking his lips in a way that was almost obscene.  
"But they were not acting independently," Sherlock continued. "I surmise that Jimmy has some blackmail of his own to use against Addie, ensuring her loyalties, because winning the science fair alone wasn't enough to win her over. Jimmy's just been using you to get to me, Johnny. I'm sorry. Truly, I am."  
"So... if Sherlock kisses you now, the picture of you and me goes away forever?" Johnny asked Jimmy.  
"Yep."  
"But he still loses the science fair?"  
"Yep."  
"That's a loss I'd be willing to live with were Johnny's reputation not at stake," Sherlock said.  
"And what if Sherlock refuses?" Johnny asked.  
"There's an assembly going on right now, as I'm sure you're all aware. I have it prepared that should Sherlock refuse me, this little gem is projected over the stage curtains for the entire student body and faculty to see." Jimmy said gleefully.  
Johnny's jaw dropped in horror.  
"There's one thing I'm missing," Sherlock said. "Addie said that should I refuse this deal, that you could make her go away from here. How?"  
"Easy, Sherlock. Honestly, I'm beginning to think you're as ordinary as Johnny." Jimmy said. "I'm in that little photo, too. Should you fail to preserve your friends' honor, the photo will be displayed at the assembly and Addie here will be expelled for blackmailing students into helping her win the science fair."  
Johnny swallowed hard. Jimmy had completely and utterly screwed all three of them.  
"Don't do it, Sherlock," Johnny told him. "I'd never ask you to. Never hold this against you."  
"Oh, Johnny," Sherlock said sadly. "What of your parents?"  
"It's not important, Sherlock. If you do this, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."  
Jimmy was absolutely bursting to tears with laughter. It was all so hilarious to watch them try to sacrifice themselves for each other.  
"It's funny that you think we all care so much what others think of us," Sherlock told Jimmy. "What if Johnny didn't care that people saw that picture of him and you? What if I don't care if I hurt Johnny by not doing what you want? What if Addie doesn't care about the science fair or transferring schools?"  
"OF COURSE YOU CARE!" Jimmy screeched. "THAT"S WHAT PEOPLE DO. THEY CARE TOO MUCH ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK!"  
"You are mistaken," Sherlock said. "People already think Johnny is gay. And you, well, everyone knows about you. Addie can win the science fair all on her own. She doesn't need my help to do that. You have nothing, Jimmy."  
The door opened yet again, but this time is was a bathroom stall. Out came Molly Hooper, of all people. She proudly brandished a tape recorder.  
"And we have everything," she said. "Every word that's just been spoken is recorded on this. And when we turn this in to the headmaster, you will be ruined, Jimmy."  
Jimmy's face contorted into a frightening scowl, like the face of a wild animal.  
"You made a rather large mistake, Jimmy," Sherlock continued. "You see, I've known for some time that whatever you were doing, hanging around Johnny, your intent was impure. I've done my research, and I know what kind of manipulative, demented, psychopath you are. Your obsession with me blinded you. You thought your plan was solid. Actually, it would have been, had you not overlooked something."  
"And what would that be?" Jimmy growled.  
Sherlock walked over and stood by Molly's side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and hugging her to his side.  
"Molly Hooper," he told him. "I know I'm rude. I know I'm self-centered. And I know that wherever I go, whatever I do, I insult and offend people. And that's what you saw, Jimmy. You saw Molly with me, and you saw Johnny with me, and you thought that Molly didn't count as my friend because I don't treat her the same as Johnny. But you were wrong. Molly has always counted, and I've always trusted her. You were too blind to see that I could have friends, because you and I are so very much alike, and you don't have any."  
"Oh, well done. Yes, very well done," Jimmy congratulated him, though there was no sincerity in his voice.  
"Well, I think we can all leave now," Sherlock said. "We've got no more business in the loo."  
"Wait! What about the photo?" Jimmy asked, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "I still have it set up to project at the assembly."  
"Yes, about that," Sherlock said. "Your guys' loyalties are easily swayed with extra sweets. I paid off Archie with sweets to destroy that copy of this photo. It won't be projected anywhere."  
"And what of Addie?" Jimmy asked, reaching for anything he could grab on to, to save his skin. "I can still make her go away. I have ways."  
Sherlock almost laughed.  
"My big brother is Scotland Yard. Do you really think with that kind of connection, I would allow such an injustice? Addie is safe. You're the one that's going away, Jimmy."  
Sherlock and Molly walked together, his arm still around her, and Johnny and Addie followed behind them, leaving little Jimmy Moriarty in the stench of used toilets.

The headmaster was willing to forgive Addie and Molly for being in the boy's lavatory on account of the huge disaster that was avoided because they were involved.  
"I don't know how these things happen," the headmaster said, speaking to all four of the heroes. "And I don't want to know."  
He was as flustered as could be. He thought that somebody ought to be in trouble, but wasn't certain what to punish anyone with.  
"You can all leave. Just go. I don't ever want to hear anyone speaking of this."  
Sherlock, Johnny, Molly and Addie scrambled from the headmaster's office. Jimmy Moriarty was awaiting his sentence in the next office.  
The four stood around in the hall, looking at each other, not sure where to go from there.  
"Well, this has been fun," Addie said. "See you at the science fair, then, Sherlock?"  
"No," Sherlock said. "You can have the project."  
"What?"  
"I still have time to conduct another research project. Consider it my thanks for your cooperation in this whole ordeal."  
Addie grinned and shocked the three of them by kissing Sherlock on the cheek.  
"You're a good guy," she told him, and pranced away.  
Molly looked rather embarrassed .  
"Well, there's still a few minutes of the assembly. I think I'd better just go and-"  
"Molly Hooper," Sherlock interrupted her.  
"Hm?" she squeaked.  
"I meant what I said earlier." Sherlock told her. "You do count. You always were my friend."  
Sherlock bent down, holding her chin with his finger, and kissed her sweetly on the cheek.  
"Thank you," he said softly. "For everything."  
Molly blushed an alarming shade of pink.  
"Yes, well-the assembly-better get going," Molly sputtered, a bashful grin on her face. She ran away towards the auditorium, her heart thudding as hard as a beating drum, her cheek positively burning where Sherlock kissed her.  
Now, Johnny and Sherlock were alone, looking at each other, unsure what to say. For it had been months since they had a proper conversation.  
"Thank you, Sherlock," Johnny said. "I don't know how you did all that, and I can never hope to repay you."  
"Don't mention it," Sherlock said. "That's what friends do, isn't it? Stop malicious psychopaths from ruining their reputations?"  
They laughed, perhaps a little too hard. Then, something came over Johnny and he flung himself at Sherlock, wrapping his arms firmly around his neck in what was likely the most intimate embrace Sherlock had ever experienced.  
"You're not going to kiss me, too?" Sherlock joked.  
"Not here," Johnny retorted. He let go of Sherlock now, and they again just looked at each other.  
"I don't mind, you know," Sherlock said suddenly.  
"Mind what?"  
"That you're gay."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Of course I'm sure. Why would I mind? Why would anyone mind?"  
Johnny's heart just about broke at these words. Sherlock was the best friend that he couldn't have.  
"Well, I don't want to get you into trouble," Sherlock said. "We're still not supposed to be friends. I'll see you around."  
Johnny looked after Sherlock as he walked away and it was all he could do to keep from crying. The stress from this morning was finally kicking in and now with Sherlock's unshakeable acceptance in him, and that glorious hug, well, it was almost too much. Johnny wondered that for all the hidden things Sherlock observed, if he could see that Johnny was hopelessly in love with him.


	12. Chapter 12

About a week had passed since Jimmy Moriarty's evil plans were thwarted. School was back to normal, except for a few things. For one, Jimmy was suspended for two weeks and he had all his classes switched so that he didn't share any with Johnny, Sherlock, Molly or Addie. Also, it was noticeable to all that Sherlock was much kinder to Molly Hooper in Advanced Chemistry. They worked together whenever group work was allowed. He took care to not insult her. He appreciated her more now. And she and Johnny were closer, too.  
Addie was never Sherlock's friend. That much was plain. But after all that occurred, the two were more like friendly enemies. Sherlock respected Addie. She deserved it. She bested him in everything and she didn't let him forget it.  
Now, Sherlock was in his bedroom at his window, playing a melancholy tune on his violin.  
"You were wrong, Mycroft," Sherlock informed his brother, before he had a chance to say anything when he entered the room.  
"How so?" Mycroft asked.  
"Friends, brother." Sherlock told him. "You always said that friends weren't an advantage. That caring wasn't. But you were wrong. If I didn't have friends, Johnny would surely be slandered."  
"If you didn't have friends, Johnny wouldn't have been in that situation at all," Mycroft told him. "Moriarty targeted him to get to you."  
"And you knew about it."  
"I thought you could use some mental exercise."  
"Hmph. It was hardly difficult to figure out."  
"You have friends, but still you play such sad music?" Mycroft asked, leaning on the doorframe.  
"What's the point of having friends if you can't be with them?" Sherlock asked.  
"Whose fault is that?" Mycroft asked. He gave Sherlock a meaningful look and then left him alone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
Sherlock knocked three times upon the white painted door of the Watson residence. He was met by a tall, stern-faced man sporting a thick graying mustache. There was a great resemblance between he and his son John.  
"You aren't welcome here, boy," Hamish Watson told Sherlock.  
"Please, sir," Sherlock said. "I'm not here to see Johnny. I'm here to speak with you and Mrs. Watson, if you'll hear me."  
As though she heard her name, Mrs. Watson came to the door.  
"Oh!" she exclaimed at the sight of Sherlock.  
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Watson," Sherlock said politely.  
"Get on with it," Hamish barked.  
Sherlock nodded.  
"I know that you don't want Johnny hanging around with me," Sherlock began. "And I understand why. I've got all sorts of bad habits. I smoke, I use drugs, I frequently get into trouble with the law. I'm rude. I have little regard for authority. It's safe to say that I am a bad influence. "  
"You can say that again," Hamish snorted.  
"What all this about, dear?" Mrs. Watson asked Sherlock.  
"I'm sure you know, also, that I possess one of the brightest minds in Great Britain. Many would say that my level of intelligence is a gift. But I tell you, sir and ma'am, that it is a curse. I poison my body with tobacco and cocaine because most of the time I can't handle the mundaneness of every day life. My mind is a prison of which there is no escaping. Before I met Johnny Watson, I didn't know what friendship was. And now that he's gone, I can tell you exactly what his friendship is to me.  
"When I'm with Johnny Watson," Sherlock went on, "he keeps my attitude in check. He always tells me when I'm out of line. When he was with me, I never smoked, or took any drugs. Never got into trouble with the law. I didn't need to. Your son always kept me right. And in case you were wondering, I've never offered Johnny anything, and if I had, he would most assuredly have declined. Johnny is a good guy."  
Mrs. Watson was teary-eyed.  
"What I mean to say, Mr. and Mrs. Watson, is that I need Johnny in my life." There was never before such a sincere look upon Sherlock's face. He meant every word he said, and as much as he hated to admit that he was wrong, he had to do it. He needed Johnny back.  
"Oh, Hamish!" Mrs. Watson sobbed. "Let Johnny have his friend back. Please."  
Hamish took a long hard look at Sherlock. Eventually he heaved a great sigh and ushered Sherlock into the house.  
"John!" Hamish called. Johnny appeared in the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw Sherlock standing there with his parents.  
"What's going on?" Johnny asked.  
"Go," Hamish told the boys. "Go and play. Or whatever it is you two do together."  
"Really?" Johnny asked, his face bright as a Christmas tree.  
"Yes. Now go, before I change my mind."  
Johnny threw himself at his father and hugged him as hard as he could. Then he dashed over to his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  
"Thanks dad, thanks mum!" Johnny said, tugging Sherlock out the door.

The two found themselves at a familiar little diner called Speedy's. They used to go there all the time, before Johnny was forbidden to see Sherlock. They caught up over chips and fizzy drinks.  
"What did you say to my parents?" Johnny finally asked.  
"I told them the truth," Sherlock said. "That you need me to help you do your science fair project or your grades will be severely affected and you'll lose your scholarship to Bart's Teaching Hospital summer program."  
They burst out laughing. "I do need help," Johnny admitted. "I am completely lost."  
"What do you say to testing how long after death bruising is still possible?"  
"Sherlock, you can't just go and beat dead people! Especially not for a school project!"  
"How about we test the presence of saliva in humans after death?"  
"That's disgusting!" Johnny moaned. "No dead people, Sherlock!"  
Finally they settled on testing the ingredients in certain sweets to see if the ingredients on the label matched what was inside the candy.  
"Come on, Johnny," Sherlock said, standing. "We're going to the sweets shop. The game is on!"


End file.
